


Run Out The Moonlight

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blowjobs, Frottage, M/M, Public Sex, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: There are worse addictions to have than Dean.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	Run Out The Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided that if it's not horny, I'm not interested. Make of that what you want.

The line is too fucking long. Well, not long, just moving slowly. Some lady at the front of it is holding things up, and Sam had been the one charged with getting breakfast today. It was going so well until Karen McMouth had decide to special order what sounds like eight hundred things, and all Sam wants to do is get these bear claws back to Dean before they get cold. He knows that he isn’t  _ supposed  _ to feed Dean junk, but sugar cures hangovers or something. Dean’s words, not his. It’s fine, he’s just hungry and feeling the hair of the dog, and it had been hell to leave Dean’s warm body there in the bed at half past six in the morning. Dean’s warm, sexy body that he’s not been able to get enough of, in any sort of way. Not since… well, there wasn’t a starting point. Sam’s just been really fucking horny and Dean seems to be doing every fucking thing he can to make sure Sam stays turned on. Fuck, Sam had volunteered to grab food to just stop himself from feeling Dean up in his sleep. It’s more a Sam thing, just because there has to be a line somewhere.

Dean, for his part, probably wouldn’t have a problem with it of any sort. He invites Sam’s perviness, and if he’s gonna be the number one person to provoke, then just what exactly is Sam’s issue here? Shit. He feels kinda bad about the way he’s been running Dean’s ass in, but when Dean drops himself in his lap and lets out a whisky-rough  _ want you  _ how the  _ fuck  _ is Sam supposed to find the fortitude to resist. He can’t, and he gives in, and it’s to the point of Dean just keeping himself fucking lubed up all the damn time. Like he’s a girl, and he gets fucking wet at the first sign of arousal from Sam. And Sam, well, he’s pretty fucking aroused a lot these days. Being around Dean is its own aphrodisiac. The guy in front of him, he kinda has Dean’s build and dark blonde hair, even the cocky little strut as the line  _ finally  _ moves and if Sam’s hands weren’t full of bear claw and coffee, he’d be rubbing himself. His cock is semi hard, again, and after last night’s drunk-kiss-backclawfuck-pass out, it’s a wonder he’s even got blood going in that direction. He grits his teeth, tries to think about disembowled bodies, and not at all about Dean’s gold-tanned shoulders bunching as he rides Sam reverse cowboy.  _ Not cowgirl, Sam, unless you’re gonna feel up my tits while I do this.  _

If Sam recalls correctly, he held on tight to Dean’s hips, just so he could watch himself split Dean open all the better. Maybe next time he’ll grab Dean’s chest and milk off his nipples until Dean comes all over his fist, begging to be fucked. Shit, gotta walk back from that one. Dean is gonna wonder where the grub is if Sam has to stop off and jerk one out before he gets there. Slave to his own lust, but hey, maybe that’s the addictive personality talking. Except demon blood he’s a junkie for Dean. Dean’s sex, his body, his mouth, poured into the most perfect system for taking as long of a hit he wants. Dean’s supply doesn’t run out, either. His hands are trembling by the time he gets to the counter and takes out a twenty to pay for everything, nearly drops a condom on the counter, and just lets the change go. The not Dean guy holds the door open, checks him out, and Sam’s cheeks flush darker, hotter, and he feels like everyone knows how turned on he is right now.

He jams the key in the Impala’s ignition and just breathes for a moment, trying to get himself under control. The car smells like sex and oil, and Sam sees a condom wrapper on the ground, the gold foil glinting in the passenger seat. Dean’s got a thing about using one in the car, since come is apparently difficult to get out of leather. Whatever. Dean ends up eating his load out of it half the time anyway, not to mention all the lube that gets spilled in the process. At this point, they could buy stock in Wet, or whatever the brand is Dean seems to favor above all over. His ass, not Sam’s - not that he’s got an opposition to the occasional rimjob. Just. Dean is a bottom, the kind of bottom that gets bossy and needy and hungry for it, and Sam’s cock seems to have an unending reserve of energy to satisfy. Maybe it’s down to being re-souled, or something, that re-wired his body enough to focus immense amounts of power to his dick. Maybe it’s their souls feeding off each other, and his dick up Dean’s ass is the most literal way to complete the circuit. Not that Sam’s caught up on trying to figure it out, he’s just glad that the physical side of things doesn’t have an off switch right now.

He drinks half off his coffee before he gets back to the motel, and the hazelnut is still making its welcome home along his taste buds when he opens the door. Dean’s not in the bed anymore, which isn’t unusual. Neither of them are good at sticking around in it after one of them leaves. The bathroom light is on, but the shower isn’t running. Steam wafts out around the crack, dancing in little tendrils towards the tobacco-stained ceiling tiles. Sam puts their breakfast down and makes a line for it, pushing the door open and seeing Dean at the sink, naked, shaving, and immediately he’s getting his way around his neck, hand at the base of Dean’s throat and laying star-hot kisses along his right side. Dean hums, smiles, inhales when Sam gets a quick bite of his clean skin. “Was betting you’d still be riled,” he says, sounding a lot less hungover than Sam feels right now - but the dark circles under his eyes tell no lies. “Always are after bourbon.”

“That why you kept ordering it?” Christ, the way Dean’s skin warms up as he pulls them flush, it’s enough to make a man lose his goddamn mind. “Fucker,” Sam says. Dean doesn’t indicate disagreement, and neither does he shrug Sam off when his hands drift down the smooth expanse of his body. Dean’s pubic hair hasn’t been trimmed a while, and Sam runs his fingers through the blonde curls, down to the base of his thick, uncut cock, hanging soft and heavy between his legs. Something about his brother like this, unguarded, unaroused, it pulls at Sam’s guts like a weight on a clock. Sam slips a hand around him and hefts Dean’s cock and balls all at once, the perfect fit in his fingers. Dean’s lips part, a vision in the half-fogged mirror, his face still covered in shaving cream. “Don’t stop,” Sam says, and just holds him while the blade, new, by the sound of it, scrapes away Dean’s three-day stubble. 

The second that he rinses it for the last time, Sam spins Dean around and kisses him, moving him off the sink and cupping the back of his head to protect him when he presses him to the wall. His jeans-covered thigh gets between Dean’s legs, his cock against it, their lips seared with what’s going to be just the first of a million today. Sam swaps back and forth between kissing his mouth and rubbing his cheek against Dean’s smoothness, then back again, tongues touching and flirting. Dean’s fingers are in his back pockets, grabbing his ass, pulling his hips to drag him closer. Just as bad and needy as Sam is for it. Sam breaks the kiss off, but doesn’t move his mouth away. “Two options - I blow you now, or after breakfast. Either way, I wanna swallow your fucking load.” Provided that Dean’s got anything left in his nuts to come out, after last night.

“It’s too early to be making that sort of tough call, don’t you think?” Dean kisses him again, and Sam’s hand is already pumping his hardening cock, slow so that he can feel his foreskin move in his grip. Sam’s not so indecisive; had Dean come with him, no doubt they’d still be in the parking lot in front of the bakery, doing their level best to get arrested. Sam kisses his way down, sucking and licking each nipple before he finally lands on his knees, and pushes Dean’s hands against the wall - he knows better. His cock is right a mouth level, and Sam looks up as he leans forward and takes him in, down, down, down, as far as he can without gagging. Not that it would matter, he’s just gotta save some of it for the rest of the day. He doesn’t suck right away, holds Dean’s erection in his mouth while his jaw relaxes around him. Dean swallows, his stomach tenses and relaxes, and Sam keeps eye contact as he starts to pick up the pace. 

“Used to be awful fuckin’ jealous of who the fuck ever taught you to suck dick while you were at school but sweetheart, I ain’t complaining anymore.” Dean sounds like he’s on cloud nine, watching until he has to close his eyes and just let his body enjoy it. Sam has his foreskin back, sensitive and salty with body-musk and precome, and if Sam wanted to draw this out, he would pull his hood forward and dip his tongue under, in and around the crown - not now. He just wants to make Dean come, and he strokes, sucks, tugs off at Dean’s balls until Dean’s fingers dig into his shoulder, his hips bucking with the sensory overload of orgasm. Sam swallows, even if it isn’t much at all - if he wants to get anything else out of him today, hydration is gonna matter quite a bit. He sucks Dean until he has to pull back, shaky, pink-flushed. Beautiful like that, a Renaissance vision of ecstasy come to life. Sam stands up, the mix of hazelnut and the salt of his brother’s body mixing in ways that defy words in Dean’s mouth. Sam kisses him until Dean grips him, rubbing his cock through his jeans - not yet.

“Eat first,” Sam says. He wants to see the satisfaction on Dean’s face grow more, and the masochist in him, well, he can hold on a little longer. He made Dean come, and that’s good enough for now. Dean nods, and leaves the bathroom, his ass worthy of a couple of ballads at least. Sam licks his lips and makes sure he can see Dean’s face as he takes that first bite of bear claw, the pleasure wrought in his features so that Sam’s heart does a little flip. He got them two each, and they eat, drink in lust-charged silence, Dean still naked, and Sam with one hand on his crotch when he’s not holding his coffee cup. Glazed sugar coats his lips, and Dean’s got some at the corner of his mouth. Beguiling, and Sam does occasionally wonder why the smallest things get his engine running so fucking fast and hard. 

Because it’s Dean, and most everything Dean does is a fucking gigantic turn on to the lizard brain part of Sam’s psyche. Sam’s given up on trying to reason with that element of his mental make-up, probably to Dean’s delight as much as his own. Dean eyes him for another long look, drains his coffee, and then stands up to lean over Sam, licking his mouth - animalistic, primal, and Sam’s body lights up  _ damn  _ fast. “Think I owe my delivery driver for that, especially with how fucking good they were.” Shit, if this is how Dean wants to play it, Sam isn’t gonna say no. “Get on the bed, Sam, and let me do some of the work this time, alright?”

Sam does as he’s instructed, lets Dean back him against it and push him down, straddling his hips and fucking his mouth with his tongue, practiced on God knows how many girls across the damn country, knowing damn well that he gets the very best of it. Dean takes his hands and links them above Sam’s head, slow grinding his naked body against Sam - to ensure painfully sharp arousal, he supposes. If Sam gets any harder, he’s at risk of getting hurt. Or so it feels. Christ,  _ whatever  _ he just needs Dean, needs Dean’s mouth or ass or what the fuck ever. Dean pulls his shirt up to his neck, and slides down with sunspot kisses over the column of his throat and collarbone. He licks the valley between his pecs, darkened with chest hair, each nipple receiving a jolt of stimulation that goes like lightning through every vein in his dick. “Listen up, baby boy - you ran a fucking number on my jaw last night, so if you don’t come in ten minutes, you’re taking over and I’ll be glad to catch whatever you got. Ain’t gonna leave you hanging, but God, Sam, your dick is too fucking big to skull fuck three days in a row.”

Propped up on an elbow, Sam cups and caresses Dean’s jaw, thumb gliding over cherry-dark lips. “You think I’d do it if you had said stop at any point?” Dean creamed his jeans when he did it day before yesterday, so there’s gotta be  _ something  _ in it for him. “But I’m listening, pretty boy - now I wanna see these around my cock.” He traces his lips again, Dean kisses the pad of his thumb, and down he does, kissing Sam’s belly and making a slow journey through his treasure trail. He unbuckles Sam’s belt and jeans quick, pulls them down along with his admittedly threadbare underwear - they gotta find an outlet soon, everything else has holes that don’t belong in it. He pulls Sam’s cock out with eagerness, and his head glistens with precome where he’s already half out of his hood. Ever since he came back, his body’s been in overdrive, wet as a lake the second he starts to get hard. Dean licks it off, pulling his cock upright, kissing the side down to his balls. “Look awfully good, worshiping me like that.” There’s no other word for it, not with the way Dean treats him when he’s on his knees.

Slow, is how Dean takes him in his mouth. His eyes sparkle like fucking emeralds as he shows Sam what he's got, swallowing only enough for Sam's body to get a taste of him - Dean isn't sucking to get him off, not yet. No, it's to tease and wind Sam up even further, like taking Dean's load down his throat didn't put every part of his body on high fucking alert. He pulls of, licks up his precome, flattens his tongue against the ventral side and licks like Sam is the world's fastest melting popsicle; maybe he is. He does that for a long enough time, fattening Sam's cock up to its bursting point, so that Sam's conception of t8me starts to get blurry. Finally he comes back, jerking to draw Sam's foreskin up and pull the loose hang between his lips, sucking, nibbling. Bursts of precome wet him under the hood, and when Dean finally does pull him back down, Sam is well beyond soaked

The pink, flared head of his cock disappears past Dean's lips, sucking him with focus now, and below, Dean's fingers press and caress the space below his balls. It goes on and on, Dean edging Sam with his mouth and throat. Expert fucking cocksucking, and it was  _ Dean  _ who was jealous of Sam's moves? Dean sucks with truck stop glory hole levels of skill. His blood pounds harder for it, and Dean's eyes lock with his,  _ tell me what you want, Sammy - " _ lick me out, Dean, fuck,  _ please."  _ He's got no shame in asking for it, full fucking circle for the orgasm that's about to rock his fucking world. 

Dean licks one more big drop of precome from Sam’s slit and then he’s moving downward, pushing Sam’s legs apart and nuzzling his balls. Sam’s breath stops up in his throat, caught by Dean's tongue as it licks across his perineum. "Wider, Sam," he commands, and Sam obeys. He puts his left arm behind his head, positioned to watch as Dean teases around his rim, his cock flexing, leaking, wet with Dean's spit. Sam takes what hasn't dried and rubs it up and down his shaft, jacking off as Dean settles in, right on his hole. He wraps his arms around Sam's thighs, his hold firm,  _ don't you dare fucking go anywhere, Sammy.  _ The way that he licks Sam’s hole out, it’s no fucking wonder that he’s heard the girls Dean brings home every now and then scream so loud. Right now, Sam’s not really thinking about them, not with the white hot jolts of Dean’s tongue against his body.

“Christ, Dean, keep fucking going.” He wraps his free hand around his cock head, drags the rough calluses over smooth skin, slicked by his precome, pouring forth every time the tip of Dean’s tongue hooks against his rim. He’s a fucking goner for it, and Dean licks and licks, until Sam’s eyes are dazzling in the veil of ecstatic emptiness, his orgasm rocketing out of him when Dean nips his inner thigh and moves  _ fast  _ to catch the rest of his come, bursting against his lips and then down his throat. He sucks Sam dry, to the point of moaning and thrashing. Sam has to pull away, legs like jelly, only to watch Dean smear some of the glazed sugar against his lips from the empty box of bear claws.

He settles his weight back on Sam’s stomach and kisses him deep, deep, deep, salt and sugar and  _ Dean  _ mixing like a divine recipe on his tongue. Sam sucks Dean’s tongue, his bottom lip, until they’re grinding again and Sam’s nerves are as chafed as sandpaper. “For the record Sam, you ain’t gotta tell me to stop. When I’m between your legs, like that, sweetheart - I’m not letting up until you get what you need.” He kisses him again, Sam rolls them so that Dean is on his back, and when they come up for air the second time, getting Dean another bear claw is the  _ least  _ that Sam can do for him.

And this time, Dean  _ does  _ blow him in the parking lot.

***

Wet. Wet, wet, wet, fucking  _ wet _ . Three miles deep in the goddamn forest, which was already fucking bad enough, but it’s raining. And they’ve got two miles to go. Sam is really, really trying not to be pissed about it, neither he or Dean control the weather in any shape or form, but holy hell what an absolute bitch of a day it’s been. The hunt has been one confusing turn after another, gruesomely dismembered bodies, and what turned out to be a half man-puma demon, as far as Sam could tell, doing the killing. Ten hikers going missing in three months, yeah, that’s up their alley. Deep in the middle of hilly woods that Sam, for the life of him, can’t really figure out  _ why  _ anyone would want to hike in this mess.

Dean’s got a wrenched shoulder, Sam’s got a couple of good sized claw marks on his ribs, and you know, fuck this job. Fuck everything about it, and fuck having to watch Dean get the shit beat out of him by weird fucking creatures that have slipped through the cracks of God’s creation, or whatever. They bandaged and attended to wounds as best they could, but the rain is loosening the hold on them, even through his shirts, and the twisted ankle isn’t helping matters. Dean is on point, looking back every five seconds to make sure Sam is still there. Of course he is, goddammit Dean, I’m not gonna fucking disappear. Just keep moving so we can  _ leave.  _ He’s thinking about the Vicodin in the glovebox, fantasizing about it even. Might be the blood loss, but Dean isn’t gonna know about that. Times like this, he… he misses being powerful. Harder to kill. He ignores the itch of an addiction that he has about four hundred other ways of coping with, because he is  _ not  _ going back to that, never again. That’s literally fucking Satan trying to whisper in his ear, and the last time he listened to him, he broke Dean’s heart and killed a friend. Sam still isn’t sure how to forgive himself for that one, or if he ever will.

Being pissed turns to his heart being heavy, his body cold. Self destruction isn’t really something he fancies anymore, not like he once did. He’s got things to live for, and at this moment in time, it’s getting out of this goddamn forest and to some place warm, with beer or coffee or literally anything else that involves returning some of the feeling to his extremities. A bath, a really long one, if he can fit in that tub back at their room. Maybe they can find a different one, something with a jacuzzi. 

“You know, Sam, the next time we find a cat demon, I’m bringing a fucking dog.” Dean’s voice is humorless, but Sam chuckles anyway. Hurts like all hell to do it, but still. “Think I just pissed too, but it’s hard to tell with all this shit going on.” He gestures with a grimace to the sky, and Sam laughs again. Dean stops, under the mediocre protection of a pine copse, heaving for breath. “Kinda embarrassing, isn’t it?”

“You really think I’m gonna laugh at you for it?” Sam isn’t in a position to do so, leaning against the tree next to Dean. “This fucking sucks.” Like Dean doesn’t know that, but it needs to be said anyway. “Think my ankle is about the size of a grapefruit right now.” He would roll up the leg of his jeans to find out, but that’s an effort far too great to ponder at the moment. Dean nods, gently touching his shoulder and rubbing for a moment.

“Get back to the room, I’ll rub your feet.” Dean’s hair is plastered to his head, his gel having long since run off, and for just a moment, he looks mortal, like he isn’t the most beautiful person ever, and Sam feels like he might be on his level for once. His lips are damp with rain, pink with exertion, and Sam, goddammit, he wants to kiss him. That tendril of desire warms him enough to move in and press a quick kiss to Dean’s lips, just a little one, only for Dean to snatch him back a second later, strong enough on the back of his neck that Sam’s caught off guard. There’s a hint of tongue, and Sam’s whole body slackens, leaning into each other. 

Paradise in the midst of the impossible, something to latch onto in their dark hours. Sam’s brain fuzzes, Dean gives him just enough to find that switch deep in his body, and then he’s pulling away as thunder claps overhead. Time to get out of the fucking woods. “You good?”

Sam nods. “I will be.” Dean pushes off the tree and Sam goes with him, his lips still tingling. Doesn’t really matter how cold the rain is, Dean’s warmth is still shooting through him like electricity. Nothing to stop them now, and with another hour of pained hiking they reach the Impala. Sam could kiss that car, and he dumps his weapons in the trunk, gets in the passenger seat, and finally lets his shoulders drop. Dean’s behind the wheel a second later, turning the car on and kicking the heat all the way up. They’re both shivering, dripping wet, exhausted. Hurting. 

After a moment, Sam reaches for the glovebox and grabs the Vicodin, pops one, and Dean takes the bottle from him, swallowing it dry. It’s gonna take a minute to work, but that’s fine. “I’m getting out of these,” Sam says, and pulls his shirt off, not really considering how he’s going to get dry clothes. Definitely means he’s gonna have to get out again at some point. Shit. Dean helps him as best he can, followed by his pants, boots shoved into the floorboard. He finally gets a look at his ankle, and yeah, it’s ugly. He touches it, very, very gently, and okay, that… that’s gonna take a while to get better. Dean looks at him, his body naked save for his damp underwear. Checking him over for any other serious injury. Nope, just the bloody gashes on his left side - which are thankfully superficial. 

Dean grabs the first aid kit anyway, and changes out the half-assed field dressing they did back in the woods. “How serious were you about the foot rub, anyway?” Sam bares himself as best he can to give Dean access, but god  _ damn  _ everything hurts to move right now. Dean checks him over, palpating for broken ribs, and in the process, moves closer to him, hands gentle over his body. Foot rub, back rub - whatever Dean is in the mood to spare him.

“How serious do you want me to be?” Dean brushes his lips over his neck, and it’s so, so foggy, the way painkillers make him feel. “God, Sam, how is it you can still look this good when you bleed?” He’s got glassy eyes and a high flush, and Sam really wants him to take his clothes off, too. He reaches for him, tugging at his soaked shirt, except he can’t get it off because of Dean’s shoulder. He grabs a knife and cuts him out of it,  _ needing  _ Dean to be warm too. Dean strips, circling each other with kisses that  _ have  _ to have some more focus. Maybe they will. It isn’t like they can really go anywhere yet, not with the rain and… this.

“I’ll take whatever you have, Dean.” They’re thigh to thigh, enough that some of their body heat is starting to transfer. It’s Dean’s left shoulder that got fucked up, and even with the humming pain of his ribcage, Sam still pulls Dean to him. He’s got enough awareness to cup the back of Dean’s head and direct their kiss, arousal surging through the muggy ends of his nerves, and soon enough, his cock is hard, pushing against his sodden underwear, and a quick feel between Dean’s legs confirms that he’s in the same place. Sam loves that, loves how hard Dean got for him, and it’s this wild thing, really. He wants to feel Dean’s cock against him, even if nothing else happens. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t - messing around on hospital grade painkillers is never a sure thing.

But goddamn it, he wants warm skin against his own, Dean’s mouth on his mouth. That’s the pursuit, those kisses and getting more of them. Careful of their injuries, he reaches for his side of the front seat and lays it back, going down as easy as apple pie moonshine. Both being injured on their left side, Dean ends up half straddling Sam’s right leg, moving enough to ease as much pressure on the both of them. It’s Sam who gets his shorts off - he’s not worried about getting caught. They’re on the back side of a national park and it’s raining so heavy that a park ranger isn’t gonna come and try to get them to leave. Not that Sam cares, really.

Dean kisses and kisses him, his hands carding constantly through his wet hair, lazy strokes of his fingers that make Sam’s whole body hum with anticipation. He touches Dean back where he can, all along his back, his good shoulder, his hips, trading touches that feel like sunlight just under his skin. There’s a lot of times that Sam feels as though it never stops, and just looking at him, when the timing is correct, he can still feel it. He’s not sure if Dean knows it or not, or if he even wants him to. Half the things that Dean does to him, to his body - they don’t have words. He circles his hands around Dean’s ass, pulling him ever so gently towards him, and gets his right hand down between them.

“You’re really, really wet Dean.” He strokes Dean’s cock, a languorous tug that makes Dean moan against his mouth. “Taste yourself,” he says, and presses his thumb to Dean’s lips, taken with how they immediately part. Dean sucks on it, licking Sam clean, and then following with a kiss of his own. Salt-sweat coats his tongue, and Sam goes back for more, time and again, until Dean finally makes him keep his hand there, fucking the loose fist that Sam’s made around them. It’s an effort, a strong one, to keep focus on getting there, rather than dry humping until they pass out. Well. Dry being relative - Dean’s pouring like a faucet it feels like, and Sam isn’t far behind him. No lube needed, not for this.

Dean’s teeth bite into his shoulder, his breath coming hot and fast. “Feels… shit, Sam feels really fuckin’ good like this.” Dean’s hips drag against Sam, his cock doing more work than Sam’s hand all of a sudden. The friction, the slick, it’s all going to Sam’s head, cut up and fed to him in these gigantic, pleasurable hits. “You feel fucking amazing Sam, so… so big, so warm, so… just like my sweetheart.” He nuzzles at Sam’s neck and ear, and Sam bares his throat to him. He’s stoned out of his mind, but so is Dean. He can’t stop smiling, and Dean’s probably gonna think he’s lost his mind, but damn it feels good, rutting like this.

“Am yours,” Sam says, and he finally gets his brain back to pursuing orgasm, and he tightens his grip up on them, enough to give Dean something more to work with. Dean seems awfully excited about it, and he moves his body in such a way to let Sam know hey, I’m close, I want to make you come too. This is all Sam needs really, save for Dean’s tongue in his mouth - and he takes it, deep, wet, fucking his mouth out as they get closer and closer. “C’mon, Dean, fucking blow for me pretty boy, come all over me.” He’s not quite got the mastery of his own self to make it forceful - but Dean responds all the same, and with a soft cry, he creams Sam’s hip and belly, thick, white, hot, and Sam comes over the rim of his fist, eyes rolling back in his head and seeing every star in the sky for a long stretch of seconds.

Dean sighs with happiness - or maybe the Vicodin is finally working like it should. Hell, Sam isn’t even  _ aware  _ of anything hurting right now, and Dean, for his part, doesn’t seem to either. It isn’t a king size memory foam mattress, but Dean’s there, and that counts. Sam has enough left to reach for his underwear and clean them off. By the time he does, the rain is starting to let off, but they’re a long way off from being collected enough to go anywhere. At least the shivering has stopped, for the time being. “Kinda wish we had a blanket or something,” Sam says, his fingers moving in easy patterns up and down Dean’s naked back. “Don’t suppose you’d let me look in the trunk, would you?”

“Only cause I don’t want my ass hangin’ out in the breeze.” Dean yawns, and Sam manages to get himself together enough to go and find what he’s looking for. Sure, it may have been pilfered from Bobby’s house, but it’s warm, it’s big, and has saved them from more than a few cold nights when they couldn’t find a room. Sam gathers it up around them, cracks the rear windows, and honestly? It’s more comfortable than it has any right to be. Dean is asleep in seconds, and Sam watches until his own eyes slide shut.

Cat demons be damned - fighting is worth getting this at the end of it.

***

“Sam - this place has  _ hand churned ice cream. _ ” Dean’s smile could light the entire eastern seaboard, were they anywhere near it. “All flavors too, peach, strawberry, honey bourbon - shit, how good would that be?” And in a gas station of all places, but it’s one of those antiquated places, where mom and pop look like they’ve been part of the landscape for their entire life, a place to fuel up as much as it is to exchange knowledge, find your way. “You want one?”

“Uh, sure - peach. Double scoop.” What the hell, it’s a warm day, they’ve still got hours of driving to go, and Sam could use something to cool his throat. Dean got a little carried away with fucking his mouth two nights ago, and Sam’s been hoarse ever since. Not that he isn’t damned proud of taking everything that Dean offered him, but it does ache just enough to bother him. How the hell Dean handles it so much more often than him, Sam isn’t going to question and keep on enjoying what Dean offers. “And a water!” Dean gives him a thumbs up as he heads back into the wood-sided store, the tank on the Impala nearing full. She’s thirsty, and Sam is hoping they don’t have to stop again for a while. A couple other cars stop and gas up next to him while Sam finishes, and the eyes she draws - Sam puffs up just a little, yeah, it’s his ride. So what if Dean’s inside getting ice cream. As far as they’re concerned, the car belongs to him.

Especially the cute redhead who gets out of a Miata, her eyes lingering on Sam a little longer than the Impala. Sam smiles back at her, and she makes a show of bending over to unscrew her gas cap and filling up. “Nice car,” she says, and if they weren’t passing through, well… Sam thinks he might have shown her  _ how  _ nice. His grin fades when he sees Dean coming out of the shop with their cones and a pissed off expression on his face - he definitely saw them. Sam straightens and fixes his smile back, and takes the cone offered to him - only to nearly drop it when Dean drags him down for a hard, fast kiss, and redhead’s interest fades with a roll of her eyes.

Dean releases Sam, the pump cuts off, and Dean opens the driver’s door. “Eat your damn ice cream before it melts, lover boy.” He gets in, Sam goes around to his side, and they sit there as the ice cream steadily begins melting down his wrist. Dean isn’t helping keep the temperature down as he moans with every lick, apparently forgetting his little snit about Sam flirting. Jeez, the double standards; Dean flirts, and Sam just has to roll with it. When Sam does the same thing, it’s all bloody murder eyes and a hand on whatever weapon might be at hand. Just to even up the score, Sam holds his ice cream with his right hand, the left landing on Dean’s thigh. Dean side eyes him, and after another lick, looks down at Sam’s hand. “You could probably cover her entire leg with one hand, if you wanna go try?”

“Try it on who?” Sam cuts in and kisses Dean’s cheek with cold lips, then goes right back to his ice cream. God, peach is such an underrated flavor, no matter what it is. Probably one of those old family recipes that was written down once and kept in an old box that has just always been around. Sam thinks that’s pretty fucking neat, and Dean certainly looks like he appreciates it too. “C’mon Dean, she was checking out the car before she even saw me.” He licks his ice cream with a little more show then necessary, and Dean  _ certainly  _ notices. “I thought that might make you feel a  _ little  _ bit better.”

Dean doesn’t reply right away, and goes back to his ice cream. Some of it drips down his hand, and without missing a beat - and in full fucking view of redhead, he leans in and licks it up from Dean’s hand, all the way up to the ends of his fingers. “Am I forgiven yet?” He’s got plenty of other tricks up his sleeve, is Dean really wants to make a thing of this. 

“Car looks better than you anyway,” he says, and he can’t quite keep the smirk off his face. Sam wants to shove him, but you know, ice cream. By the time they’ve licked away at the tops of the cones, Sam’s got arousal building in his gut, tempted completely by the way Dean licks his lips after every taste. Savoring it, enjoying every single swipe, not at all unlike when he’s got Sam’s cock in his mouth. Images unbidden come to mind, all of them involving Dean with cold lips against his warm skin, and idly, he wonders just how much trouble they would get in if he took Dean around the back of the shop. It’s nearly sunset, and well… Sam isn’t so sure he can wait until they get to a room. The way Dean keeps shifting, maybe Dean can’t either. Dean catches him watching, reaching over and rubbing Sam’s knee. “Something you want?”

“Maybe. Kinda want to go wash my hands. Cause it’s uh, sticky.” Sam’s down to eating the cone, those last few glorious bites the best part. He picks up the water bottle Dean brought and drains it, welcome after the sugar in the ice cream made his throat feel dry. “Think you might need to wash your hands too, don’t you?” If Dean isn’t gonna pick up on the hint, then there’s not much more that Sam can do for him. He licks his own lips at Dean, eyes bright, his cock heavy to the left today - just a couple inches from Dean’s hand where it’s moved up his thigh. There’s only so much temptation that either of them are capable of resisting, and Sam’s willing to bend the rules  _ heavily  _ in his favor. “Or do you want me to think about our girl there in the shower?”

“Looks like your fingers are  _ really  _ sticky, Sammy.” Got him. Sam gets out of the car, and they’re the only ones left in the place. Good. Dean leads them around the back of the place - Sam double checks for a security camera, and doesn’t see any - and he’s shoved up against the wall the minute they’re out of sight, right outside the bathroom door. Dean kisses him, hard enough to make his jaw strain, and with immediacy, Sam’s hands drops to Dean’s crotch, rubbing, squeezing, massaging and grabbing as much of him as he can. Dean’s hard in a second, grinding off against Sam’s fingers. “You gonna let me do this, or are-”

Sam goes for his belt, unbuckling with practiced ease. “You really gotta ask, pretty boy?” He melts into another kiss, licking the sugary-cold taste of peach and cream from Dean’s lips and mouth, intoxicating as a shot of tequila he’s just taken. Dean’s hands grip the front of Sam’s shirt, yielding to the way Sam’s touch lands on him. He’s warm here, so, so warm, as familiar as though this body was his. For all intents and purposes, it is. Everything about him, Sam knows it, like how he enjoys the crown of his cock focused, short strokes that give maximum pleasure. He breaks their kiss and urges Dean into the bathroom - it’s small, just a toilet and sink, definitely not large enough for two people - probably to discourage activity like this. Sam turns him and presses his body to Dean’s back. “You’re as wet as a fucking girl Dean, _ shit. _ ”

Dean moans, his jeans and boxers around his thighs as Sam strokes him off. “Can you fucking blame me, Sam?” Sam bites at his neck, feels Dean’s cock stiffen even further. “You and that girl, Sam,  _ fuck. _ ” God, he wasn’t even mad - thinking about them together, it fucking turned him on. Sam turns Dean’s face back to his, kissing him again, and doesn’t once let up on Dean’s cock. Sam’s hard as iron in his own jeans, and the longer this goes on, the more impossible it becomes to ignore his own arousal. But God, he’s got to get Dean there first, he  _ has  _ to. “She would have done anything you fucking wanted her to, Sam, I fucking know it.”

“Like you do?” Sam ruts against Dean’s naked ass, wanting to hear more. “Can’t really think of anyone who takes me like you do.” Dean groans, another long drip of precome leaking out of him. “She doesn’t know how fucking hard I go. Would break her in half.” Still - how long has it been since he’s felt the wet, perfect heat of a girl on his cock? Christ, he’s not even eaten out in ages, not since before his soul was put back in. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you. Watch me with a girl, fuck her hard and deep.” Sam’s head fills with it, Dean getting off on  _ watching -  _ Dean would. He absolutely would. “Unless you’d wanna join in, and we fuck her together.” Out of all the kinky, wild shit they’ve done, that’s never been one of them. Mostly because Sam wants to be the  _ only  _ one he thinks about when he gets horny.

But them together, working someone over, fuck. “Keep fucking talking, Sam.” Dean’s fucking his fist now, moving by his own foreskin and precome, and he’s almost there, he is. Sam puts his mouth to Dean’s ear, pulls him to his body a touch tighter, making Dean  _ aware.  _ Yeah, he’s got Dean exactly where he fucking wants him.

“I’d go first, you know, stretch her out, get my fucking cock good and wet in her, then make you lick her off of me. Shit, Dean, I’d wanna kiss you so bad after that, taste it on your lips. Keep going until she was open enough you could slide in next to me, and we’d fuck her, so, so good Dean, fill her up.”  _ Breed her,  _ Sam thinks, and his own hips lurch at that. Fuck. “Make her moan and beg and scream until she comes all over us, so, so wet.” He thinks of that redhead, and yeah, Sam’s pretty sure she would have been down for whatever. He strips Dean’s cock faster and faster, until Dean comes all over the floor, heavy, wet spurts that smell richly masculine. Dean shudders, begging until he’s dry. 

Dean’s spinning on his heel damn fast, pawing at Sam’s jeans, and he growls  _ come on my face  _ with a force that doesn’t leave any sort of room for argument. Sam gets himself out, Dean’s on his knees, and Sam gets about fifteen seconds of enjoying his own touch before he coats Dean’s open mouth and cheeks, flooding out enough that Sam forces an eye closed. It’s so, so fucking good, marking Dean up like this, and the moment he’s done, Sam’s hauling him to his feet and licking his chin and lips, swapping, making even more of a fucking mess than they have. Sam likes how he tastes in Dean’s mouth, always has - and he doesn’t stop until he’s gotten as much as he can. His arousal still throbs, but for now, he’ll live.

But there’s no way he can fully erase the scent of his own body from Dean, nor the taste of him from his mouth. “I wanna fucking do that, Sam.” His eyes are blown fucking wide with lust, and it’s a hell of a look on him. “Share a girl with you, I mean.”

“Yeah?” Sam… Sam was just talking to get Dean hot, but holy shit, a dream fucking come true. Nearly, anyway. “Fuck, we will, Dean. But it’s gotta be the right one. Cause I’m not gonna lie to one about us. She can have your body for a night-”

“But she can’t have me, I know.” Dean kisses him again, and this time it’s on the sweeter side in its intensity. “Wouldn’t want anyone else, not like that.” He doesn’t say if often, but Sam really,  _ really  _ likes hearing it anyway.

  
And they’ll find her, alright. Sam  _ knows  _ they will.


End file.
